


Give You My Heart [If Only You Asked]

by cluelesspaladin



Series: All You Sinners Stand Up and Sing Hallelujah [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Demons, Fallen Angels, Fluff, Historical AU, Hurt/Comfort, Keith doesn't know how to emotion and it's adorable, M/M, Open Ending, Temporary Character Death, ambiguous ending, angel au, angel keith, angel shiro, depictions of violence, human shiro, pidge is a sassy demon, references to flowers, sheithflowerexchange2019, vague depictions of the feudal era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluelesspaladin/pseuds/cluelesspaladin
Summary: Takashi was soft laughter in the night, hands carefully brushing aside the dark locks from his cheek in the shadows of the gardens, eyes that were so, so soft despite the angel doing nothing to deserve it. He had done nothing to deserve this man’s love, and yet, he knew that he had gained it.Deep within his heart, the angel knew that he would freely give it if he dared. If he were only asked.He slipped off the pavilion, landing on the grass with a soft sound that was whisked away with the breeze. He felt his hair shift, felt the whispering tendrils soothing their way through his wings, felt connected as he never had before to the world around him, and he spoke.“If only you asked, I would give you everything.” He whispered.And in that moment, the angel’s fate was sealed.-Prompt Two: (for more creative freedom): Something emotionally charged and bittersweet, or in the vein of angst with a happy ending.Flowers: Asphodel, Forget-Me-Not





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strange Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Strange+Rose).



> I finally post something! I've been working on some super amazing projects with bangs and other events these last few months, and I'm very excited to share them with you!

_Angels are servants of God._

_Servants who, despite the many pretty wrappings and delicate orders of things, are meant for nothing more than to carry out their missions. Whether it be war or peace, famine or fortune, they linger in the world of the living only long enough to intervene to protect His creations before vanishing like smoke in the wind. As such, they appear untouchable, divine in the most potent of ways._

_And yet, even the most divine are capable of sin._

_Even those, with the purest of heart and noble intention, may be swayed from their path of righteousness._

_Led to ruin by their own doing._

-

Once, many years ago, an angel came to what modern peoples would commonly know as Japan.

His mission there has long since been lost, though there are always the tales whispered in the dark corners and hidden crevices where secrecy is assumed but not proven. Some say that a mighty samurai saved the angel during a great battle between two warring lords, while some say it was the other way around. Some say that the angel was meant to ferry the soul of the same samurai to the gates of Heaven and rebelled, instead restoring the samurai’s life and sheltering him. And some further still speculate that it was nothing more than a passing glance in the streets of a village, a blip in the peripheral before continuing with their very different lives.

In truth, it had been some of those rumors and yet none of them at all.

An angel _had_ been assigned a mission by the Messenger. Rumor had spread of angels banished from Heaven- known as the Fallen- appearing amongst the war and strife in the feudal regions of a small island country. These beings, twisted into demons of the highest orders over the course of time, were taking souls that had no business being reaped before their time. Commonly known as Reapers- though hardly comparable to the actual angels tasked with the grisly duty- they could easily warp the balance of the planes of existence. And with the number of skirmishes and battles that were occurring in the area, it certainly wasn’t uncommon for there to be large numbers of samurai casualties, but this was something else. Someone was reaping souls, and it was beginning to unsettle the natural order of Heaven.

The angel tracked the Fallen Reaper, striking the first blow during one such skirmish. The Living, unable to see the wings of those of the divine, would later describe in detail the strange man clad in fabrics of crimsons and earthy browns, a broad blade gleaming almost unnaturally under the slivers of sunlight through the dark clouds above.

It was a hard-fought fight, the abilities gifted to both their races evening the score. But the angel emerged victorious, striking a fatal blow that turned the Fallen to ash in the wind before disappearing as swiftly as he had come, never to be seen again.

But that wasn’t entirely true, for someone did.

The angel, wounded from his encounter with the Fallen, retreated to the private gardens of a shogun lord, knowing his vulnerable state would only serve to attract more of the Fallen should he remain on the battlefield.

A hand to his side held the largest of his wounds- several large claws sinking deeply into the flesh as he had blocked a moment too slowly. It would not kill him, but it rendered him weak enough while he spent the time and energy to heal himself. Wounds received from a demon could infect easily, causing an angel’s Grace to leak from their form not unlike blood in water.

It was there, crouched among the spring blossoms of the garden, that the angel found himself looking up into the face of a samurai- one who had been tasked with protecting his lord. Deceptively gentle features were settled firmly into a cool stare as the angel found himself at the receiving end of the samurai’s blade. If he were in his right mind, he would have laughed at the idea that a _human_ would be capable of harming an angelic being. As it were, all he could manage was a huff of amusement, settling further into the grass below him and inviting the samurai to do what he would. A part of him was certainly genuinely curious to see how this would play out.

The samurai appraised him, dark eyes studying his strange clothing and the angelic blade with thinly veiled curiosity and suitable wariness before carefully lowering his sword. It went to show his intelligence then, that he wouldn’t outright sheath it in his presence.

“Who are you? What has brought you here?”

The angel was familiar with all tongues of men, and was thusly able to understand the low rumble of the samurai’s voice as he spoke his own language. It was an oddly pleasant tone, he would admit. Hardly like the hissed threats he was usually subject to whilst dealing with Fallen.

He shook his head.

“You would not believe me, even if I were to tell you.” He said dryly, the unfamiliar syllables of the different language rolling off his tongue.

For reasons unbeknownst to the angel, his words brought a twitch to the samurai’s lips.

“I think you would be surprised.” He returned.

“Perhaps.” The angel replied, wincing as one of his wings ached fiercely. There were a handful of feathers missing now, the blood from the wounds bleeding sluggishly. It would not hinder his flight, but it was hardly comfortable.

No, what surprised him was that as he spoke, the samurai’s gaze had followed the motion of his wings. _That by all rights_ , _he shouldn’t have been able to see as a mortal being._

Surprised, suddenly fearful, the angel fled with what Grace he was able to muster, leaving behind the samurai amid the blooms of the sprawling gardens.

-

Despite the near overwhelming caution pulling at his limbs, the angel did return to the gardens once he had healed. Perhaps it was the nature in which he had parted, or perhaps it had simply been the way the samurai had looked at him. But nonetheless, he returned, appearing in a shower of Grace, hand hovering over the hilt of his blade in the instance of an attack. But none came.

It should be mentioned that the time between worlds is fickle. The angel, having fled from the gardens, had sought refuge in one of the in-betweens to replenish his energy stores. For all he knew, it had been a great many years since he had last been in this time, or nearly none at all.

The sky was dark above him, clouds crowding the dim, gleaming light of the moon and teasingly revealing glimpses of the stars intermittently. The flowers around him were still in bloom, but there was a strange aura about them. Almost as if they had been blessed- but that simply was not possible. But then, an angel leaking Grace could certainly be capable of anything, he supposed.

Brows furrowed as he puzzled that thought, the angel walked amongst the beauty of the gardens, taking the time to appreciate the quiet simplicity that surrounded the grounds. There were beautiful places of refuge in the gardens of the heavens, of course, but there was always something _different_ about the way that His creations would treasure the gifts of their world. Always searching for another level of understanding perhaps, or taking inspiration from the divine, humanity would always seek to create and better themselves as time stretched on.

The path straightened ahead of him, the glassy surface of a large pond situated in a central location, a wooden bridge leading across to a crimson and amber painted pavilion. It was here that the angel grasped his blade and readied himself for trouble. For another Fallen had come to this place. But, just as it had come, it appeared that something, or someone, had already dealt with the situation.

The wings black as pitch draped into the pond’s still waters, the gentle lapping of the water against the withered feathers almost grotesque in comparison to the rest of the peaceful place that was painted around it. The gleaming amber gaze, pupiless, sightless, was staring at the sky above, a trail of black blood dripping from its fanged mouth, still open in a soundless snarl.

A small, subtle noise from further beyond the corpse drew the angel’s attention. Cautious, dark eyes surveyed his surroundings, darting around as he sought the source. It wasn’t until he stepped into the pavilion that he realized it to be the same samurai he had encountered the first time he had come to this place, a bloody hole torn through his shoulder. Thick gouges criss-crossed his chest, the navy-blue fabric doing nothing to staunch the bleeding as he leaned heavily against one of the posts of the structure.

The angel could sense the samurai’s soul, flickering like a candle in a crisp breeze, wavering as he clung to life with a dogged determination the like he had not seen before. His harsh pants broke the quiet night as the angel approached quietly, some deep instinct driving him to crouch before him, tilting his head to one side in contemplation.

The samurai’s lips twisted into a wry smile as he looked upon the angel, no doubt already able to see the full magnificence of soft golden wings spread behind him and the eerie glow of his Grace surrounding his silhouette that all who were dying began to See.

“You came back.” He coughed wetly, barely twitching as the angel settled before him, steady gaze intense as he paused. Waiting. Though for what even he didn’t know.

“I did.” The angel replied simply.

“I had wondered… if you would.”

The angel cocked his head at the words, confusion coloring his features for a moment. This human, one of His creations… what did the samurai mean by those words?

“Why?”

The vaguest of motions- an aborted attempt to shrug one shoulder, the angel realized. The samurai’s dark hair was falling into a cut on his cheek- without thinking, the angel brushed it away, freezing as he realized what he had done.

“You seemed…” the samurai blinked, slowly, every part of him reading exhausted. “Lonely.”

“Lonely?”

Lonely was a word that the angel was not unfamiliar with. It could be a difficult existence, constantly shifting from one place to the next, barely manifested upon the Earth before he was recalled back to Heaven for some matter or another. Few angels were close, fewer still who knew one another completely.

He had seen the rise and falls of civilizations, partook in wars and battles of men to shape the future into something better alongside angel and man alike.

But to describe him lonely? It was certainly unexpected.

“It is in your eyes.” The samurai said quietly, the rasping growing louder as he winced, though not making any effort to change his position or make himself more comfortable. The growing shadows in the edges of the angel’s vision were a precursor to a Reaper appearing soon- the samurai did not have much time left.

“The creature you slew- did you know of its true nature?” the angel asked instead, forcing patience as the words took several long moments to register to the man.

“I suspected it was not like you.”

“In which way.”

“You are pure. It was not- a youkai.”

Youkai. A demon. Not untrue, but not entirely correct, either. The term was used loosely, for a true youkai was not quite either. Regardless of that fact, for a mere human man to manage to kill one was no small feat, and to survive much rarer. He said as much, in fact, to which the man reacted rather differently than the angel had anticipated.

He laughed.

“You and I have different ideas of that word, I think.” The samurai chuckled, gasping in pain and gritting his jaw as a spasm wracked him.

The angel looked upon the samurai, and something shifted in his perspective. What he had done was worthy of titles and glory, in days past. But he suspected, should he hold the samurai’s soul in hand and Judge it, that he would find no higher motive other than his own reasons. Reasons he already suspected, but did not confirm.

“Perhaps.” He finally said, slowly, gathering his thoughts. “Do you have a name, samurai?”

“Shirogane Takashi.” The samurai managed, eyes growing more distant as he leaned more heavily into the post. “Do you have a name as well, Kami-sama?”

The words were soft and nearly reverent, and with their utterance something within the angel settled. They washed over him, pushing him to nod shortly, his decision made. With a gentle touch, he reached out, resting his palms over the samurai’s forehead and heart.

He could feel the stuttering, slowing beat beneath his fingers. A warm golden glow began to pulse from his center, fueling his Grace into something less sharp and softer around the edges, healing rather than harming. Within moments, he could sense the soul of the mortal man pulsing and strengthening as light bolstered it- soon it glowed with strength enough to light most of the surrounding garden as the angel’s eyes closed in focus, channeling his Grace with a steadiness he was unused to.

When it eventually faded, the samurai could only stare at him blearily, exhaustion pulling at his limbs.

“I have many names. Few that you would know, and fewer still to speak. You may call me Kaeth.” The angel finally spoke, blinking once before leaving the samurai’s- _Takashi’s_ side- in a shimmer of Grace.

-

It was strange, the way that the angel fell into the samurai’s orbit. Never before had he become so quickly entrenched in the ways of the Creator’s inventions, nor had he ever become so quickly curious of the ways of the samurai. He knew, of course, of many things of the world and how it worked, but so often angels were called back to Heaven before they were able to see the Earth for what it was.

Thrice more he returned to the gardens, only once in which he encountered the samurai again. For it was still a time of war here in this place, and he was often called away to battle with his lord. But in the time he did not see the samurai, he instead spent it examining the blooms and other natural wonders of the place.

It spoke of the wealth of the samurai’s lord that they would be so expansive- the house itself was not to be found for quite some time as the angel eventually sought it out. However, there was great care shown in the gardens. Well cared for, with wildlife bountiful in the songbirds and wild deer that seemed hardly surprised at his presence.

He wondered, idly, if the humans would realize that he had accidentally blessed the garden with his first visit. It had made the already vivid plants even more so, the blooms of the flowers barely wilting. It was certainly not possible for the realm of mortals, but the evidence spoke for itself. Then again, a great many things should not be possible, and yet were.

The samurai’s abilities to see his wings, for example.

There were also the matters of the Fallen assuming the roles of Reapers.

Several more had appeared in the area the angel had come to protect, each of them dispatched by angels or others. One of them, he discovered, had been dealt with by the samurai Shirogane Takashi.

He was learning very quickly that humans were not always what other angels and their Father had made them out to be. Oh, there were the dark and corrupt sides of humanity- it seemed to be just another facet in the complexities of their natures. But all races had such flaws.

But Takashi was different.

While he had seen some truly cruel things amongst his time on the Earth, he realized very quickly that his samurai was one with a compassionate heart. Those he could spare, he would. Those he was unable to sway were put to death quickly and mercifully. In some circles, he had even come to be known as “Champion”.

Time passed, days growing into weeks, and the angel continued to visit the gardens of the shogun that Takashi had once served. Once, for he had fallen in battle, leaving the grounds of the gardens to whomever would claim them. Someone turning out to be the samurai himself, taking to residing there to tend to the gardens. Save for a single black stain upon the earth from where the Fallen angel had perished, the plants grew and thrived under the samurai’s gentle coaxing and touches.

What would happen once the angel were to move on from this place, if the samurai were to perish in battle next?

It was becoming more and more difficult to resist the call of simply staying with the samurai, to persist in calling him by his station rather than by his true name. Willing himself to focus his attention on the mission he had been assigned by the holy Messenger, continuing to deal with the Fallen who continued still to flock to the sweet honey that was war. Just like it was becoming harder to ignore that perhaps the samurai meant something more to him, given his accidental blessing via angelic spirit, tending to a likewise blessed garden.

But he was an angel. It was unacceptable.

And yet, the longer he stayed, the more his heart wavered.

-

“Stay.”

It was hard to deny the request.

The angel had fought long and hard alongside the samurai and the shogun, the battle fierce and their foes fiercer still. Fallen had been plentiful among them- more than the angel had seen before. It had resulted in his journeying back to Heaven to report his findings to the Messenger.

The elder angel had tossed her mane of silvery hair over her shoulder, gleaming silver eyes watching him knowingly as he excused himself from her presence. He couldn’t help but wonder what the others thought of him, leaving their angelic home to travel Below so often, fighting next to humanity and angels alike.

In some ways it felt as though he had a foot in both worlds now.

“Be careful, Warrior.” She said to him as he flared his wings, gathering his Grace to travel back to the world Below. “I fear your future should you forget your Mission.”

“I will be.” He promised, even as his chest tightened at the words, an unfamiliar sensation that nearly stopped him in his tracks. However, he did not allow himself to show it outwardly, travelling back to the gardens that were quickly becoming a second home while he was in the feudal region.

The samurai waited for him, as he always seemed to, now. It had long since been months since their first meeting, and while they were familiar, acquainted with one another, the angel continued to persist a boundary between them. Fear stopped him. Wariness. Uneasiness. He knew the tales of those who Fell. The Temptations that had led to their downfall.

And yet.

And _yet_.

Perhaps not all of it had been true.

The samurai spoke fondly of things of his past- his grandfather, whom he had left behind in hopes that he would be able to protect them both. Of his love of the open skies at night, the soft songs of the evening breeze in the summers- the summer that was now upon them. Of small, insignificant things that sparked new emotion in the angel.

He voiced his thoughts as such, one evening, as he sat perched on the roof of the pavilion, the samurai sitting below.

“You are strange.”

“Oh?” Amusement colored the samurai’s tone, and he smiled gently up at the angel from where he was reclined against a carved stone. The burbling pond punctuated the comfortable silence that fell between them.

“I was not meant to stay.” He said, frustration coloring his tone. “But there are still so many Fallen plaguing this place. I do not know what draws them here still.”

The samurai shrugged, looking far too at ease.

“And yet here you are.”

Astute, as always. But there was something in the easy gentleness that the words were spoken that soothed the angel, and he sighed, looking at the stars above in search of some kind of answer.

“ _You_ make me want to stay.”

The words felt traitorous, even as he tasted them on his tongue and rolled them from his lips.

“I am but a simple samurai, Kami-sama. I have nothing to offer you.”

The angel made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat, shaking his head.

“It is not that.” He nearly growled. “You are gentle, and kind, and you do not treat others as cruelly as some of your world. You offer yourself in tribute to any who would offer your comrades harm, and you have seen and challenged beings not of this world simply for your own reasons. You do not make sense, and it makes me feel-“

Feel as though the reality he resided in were turning into some cruel jest. He was Warrior, one of the angelic host. His Mission was to do His bidding, to follow His words and love Him as he loved all of His creations.

But Takashi changed it.

Takashi was soft laughter in the night, hands carefully brushing aside the dark locks from his cheek in the shadows of the gardens, eyes that were so, _so_ soft despite the angel doing nothing to deserve it. He had done nothing to deserve this man’s love, and yet, he knew that he had gained it.

Deep within his heart, the angel knew that he would freely give it if he dared. If he were only asked.

He slipped off the pavilion, landing on the grass with a soft sound that was whisked away with the breeze. He felt his hair shift, felt the whispering tendrils soothing their way through his wings, felt connected as he never had before to the world around him, and he spoke.

“If only you asked, I would give you everything.” He whispered.

And in that moment, the angel’s fate was sealed.

-

Where once the angel had tread with caution, none remained once those dark words had left his lips. Did Takashi realize what he risked, speaking those words out loud, where any could hear?

The angel continued his work, of course. The presence of the Fallen and the false Reapers was not something that would simply vanish with new revelations in other matters. No, they would still be there, watching, waiting, hunting the souls of the samurai warriors and taking them for themselves, turning their bright lights into nothing but withered husks to do their bidding.

But in the quiet moments between battles, of parting ways from Takashi until they met again, things had changed. Where once walls had carefully been constructed, now existed only rubble between them.

They sat in the engawa of the house- more a mansion, really- the overhang enough to cover them both as the rain thundered down from the skies. The angel seated himself cross-legged, while Takashi reclined back onto his elbows, uncharacteristically relaxed for once. Then again, it had also been oddly peaceful for the last few weeks.

The angel hummed contentedly, watching the ripples of the droplets as they hit the small pond next to the house, almost tempted to dip his toes into the waters and see if the koi were interested enough to investigate. His wings, usually kept pinned closely to his back, draped across the tatami.

Takashi reached out to comb his hands tentatively through the long golden feathers, relishing in the sensation as Kaeth’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed. He could watch Takashi’s warm expressions of warm contentment for eternity, if only he were allowed to. He had always asked if he were allowed to touch his wings, and after the first time told him he need never ask. Whether he realized their significance to his status or not, Takashi’s calloused fingers never tugged or pulled a feather out of place, rather doing the opposite and preening what he could reach. And always, his contentment would slowly change to contemplation to something akin to grief, though for what the angel didn’t dare ask.

He didn’t know how Takashi could see the aura of the angelic, nor could he figure out how he was able to see his wings, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers if it meant returning to Heaven to find them. The thought of leaving the earth saddened him now rather than gladdened his heart, and it led to several instances that he vanished to a hidden world between worlds. Never for long- never long enough to harm the time that he would be able to spend with his samurai- but enough that he could think.

Think of what he was doing.

He was loyal to his cause and his Mission, but it was becoming clear that his heart was beginning to speak its own desires, and those desires were fixated on Takashi. His gentle smile, his soft touch, the way that he pressed close to him in the night as he slept, for an angel had no need for the same needs and wants as humanity. Or so he had thought.

Now, he was not so certain, and doubt began to fester in his heart.

-

It happened during battle.

Matters had been brewing between several clan of samurai for some time, and Takashi was called to war. The angel followed, this time. While he realized that Takashi was blessed, he also festered great fear in his chest. By now he had realized that the Fallen were attracted to this place because of Takashi and his simple abilities of seeing things that others were unable to.

It made sense- they desired his soul to feast upon, to take as their own and use it for their own means. But he would not allow it.

Before the battle, Takashi had been quiet. Quieter than the angel had ever seen him in the time that he had known the man.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He demanded, crossing his arms over his breastplate and levelling a stare at the man. “Something is bothering you. It taints your soul.”

Takashi was quiet for far too long, and something in the angel feared that perhaps he had inquired into matters that did not concern him, or he had offended the man. He knew he was difficult to get along with- amongst the other angelic host, he was known to be standoffish and distant at best. But it meant little if when it mattered, he could do nothing.

“I thought it would pass.” He finally said, meeting the angel’s gaze. “I had almost hoped for it. But now, I see there is no hope of hiding it.”

The angel blinked, waiting for him to go on.

“Something is going to happen in this battle. I can sense it.” The samurai said, eye focused on a distant horizon only he could see. “If I should join the halls of my ancestors-“

“You _won’t._ ” the angel said immediately, fierce protection brewing in his veins. “Never will I allow harm to come to you.”

Takashi’s smile was twisted as he looked at the angel, took in the wings that were strong enough to carry a thousand men, the blade sheathed at his side, the armor and the dark crimson fabric draped about him. A messenger of God, a warrior to serve the host.

All of it balanced on the delicate praecipe of his own ruin.

The angel should have known better than to assume that Takashi would be wrong now.

They had become separated, as matters tended to go in the midst of battle. He had been pinned by a Fallen with eyes like coals and claws that sparked with dark power like oil. Dark, ragged feathers beat against him as he drew his angelic blade and threw himself into the fight, entrenched in the thick of it as he fought to return to Takashi’s side.

It was long. Many of the men who had joined the fight against their so-called youkai were dead, their sightless eyes forever affixed on some far place only they could see, true Reapers beginning to appear to collect the souls and smite the Fallen who remained.

A howl echoed across the plain that they had found themselves in, a sound that chilled him to the bone in its familiarity. Takashi was in danger.

He gathered his Grace to him, depleting was little of his stores he had left as he reappeared in time to see the Fallen baring teeth down at the man, who gripped the remains of his arm, taken cleanly by a dark blade that had visible shadows twining along its length.

“You think a Blessed Man would stop us from finding him?” the Fallen hissed at him, baring her teeth at him in a macabre grin. The angel recognized her from the ancient texts- Haggar, once Honerva, first Messenger and Host to God. “There is nothing on this Earth nor the next world that could keep him safe from us.”

The angel readied his blade, the Fallen snarling as she fell upon him. She quickly discarded her cursed blade in favor of her dark magics, digging claws into his sides and tearing his Grace from him. His body shuddered at the sensation, never before feeling so weak as he fell to his knees, every part of him refusing to yield even in the direst of circumstances.

And yet, he dug deeply, finding a strand of some unknown bond that he did not even know was there and tugging it close to him, realizing quickly that it was none other than Takashi to whom it belonged. His strength, his belief, and his love, all washed over the angel like a balm, giving him the strength to raise his blade and plunge it deeply into her breast, the angelic Grace it had been forged in destroying her in a final scream of agony and a burst of ash.

His energy spent, the angel collapsed next to his love, for that was what he finally realized Takashi to be to him. His Grace flickered weakly along his skin, wings limp along the ground that he lay upon. Takashi was no better, features ashen as he attempted to staunch the bleeding from his injured arm.

He reached out to touch him, words of healing upon his lips, but Takashi shook his head with a pained smile.

“Save it for yourself. There could still be others, and you need your strength.”

“And I could not lose you.” He returned with all the bite he could muster. “I refuse to let you die.”

He grasped onto Takashi with everything he had, willing his battered and broken body to cooperate, forcing the last vestige of his energy into Takashi’s life, sealing his wounds and his own fate as a searing pain fell across his back.

The last thing he knew was a frantic noise above him, and then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

The bottle of whisky sits rather innocently on the polished oak counter, for all that it’s causing him misery. The wood beneath his palm is solid, sturdy, and holds just the faintest of grooves from a patron or two in the past who perhaps found themselves slightly too enthusiastic of whatever conversation that they had partaken in.

The alcohol is bitter as he sends it down his throat, the burn accompanying it something of a comfort. Not the healthiest of habits, but to be fair, there isn’t much that could actually cause permanent damage at this point.

His free hand runs through the thick black locks tumbling around his cheeks, thankful that he’d pulled back his fringe for once in his existence. He doesn’t care who sees him like this- few associate with him to begin with, but to those who knew what it meant when he began to drink, it was wise to avoid him altogether.

His hand moves to the short knife tucked against his side next, pensively running over the hilt as he tries to recall the features of the angel who just hours earlier had tried to put a blade between his ribs.

He can’t remember their faces.

Can no longer recall the names he had once known with such clarity. Nor should he, he supposes, since his Falling. It isn’t his business- hasn’t been for hundreds of years. But every once in a while, his thoughts turn introspective as he finds himself thinking of a dark-haired samurai who had been his Temptation and led him to the Fall.

He had been in love with Takashi, once.

It was the reason that they were the tale of Icarus and the Sun, though it hadn’t been for some time later that he realized it. They had made their wings too much of wax, and had stretched for something that would only blind them to the knowledge that their wings were melting.

It was the reason Keith had fallen- encouraging a mortal to reach past the borders of his world into one that he didn’t belong to. Or at least that was the general assumption. Waking to find himself alone in the plains where he had once laid next to Takashi, alone, chest aching and his wings molting to reveal dark as pitch feathers told him everything that he needed to know.

He had Fallen.

It’s been hundreds of years at this point. Keith is lonely, drifting amongst the lost souls of Earth with charred wings and a bitter heart. So what if he wants to drink a bottle of whisky on a cliff in the middle of nowhere from time to time?

Granted, there _is_ a bar on the cliff- where he is currently sitting- but the sentiment remains the same. Somewhere in Ireland, drinking whisky and feeling sorry for himself for something that he swore he would forget. Takashi was dead, and he had Fallen. Regardless of his wishful thinking, the reality was clear- he would never see his samurai again. It shouldn’t have meant what it had. An angel is infinite, after all, and what is a mere handful of months to them in the scheme of their lifespans?

The answer, apparently, is everything.

His ears twitch as the familiar sound of an angel appearing registers, and he runs a hand through his hair again, mindful of the short black horns that curl skyward as he does so. Scowling, he downs the rest of his whisky, momentarily debating staying to stab the angel who was sent after him this time, before deciding it’s hardly worth it and closing his eyes, visualising his home.

It’s dark, of course, a pocket dimension he’s been forced into by his own needs. Other Fallen are hardly friendly to one another, their own reasons for having been banished from Heaven varying in severity. He’d met several who had slaughtered other angels for sport, after all.

It’s a cruel mockery of the place he had once found so soothing, a mirage that’s liable to crumble at the slightest touch if he isn’t careful, but the Japanese garden soothes him all the same as he appears, the faint tang of sulfur on his tongue to accompany the whisky.

Charming.

This is his existence now. Roaming endlessly, merely avoiding angels where he can and dealing with the ones he can’t. He doesn’t know how much of him remains of the angel he used to be to the demon he’s become. His wings are ashen, beginning to lose their feathers the longer he remains in this form.

He had been angry, at first. Now, he finds himself almost resigned. Destined to fall because of a samurai who had been able to see his wings and the best in the world despite its efforts to ruin him.

He doesn’t have the courage to return to that place, the one he has such vivid memories of. Instead he settles for the mirage, pretending that everything is the same while the reality beats at the walls he’s recreated to protect himself.

-

He’s taking a drag from a cigarette, feet dangling over the side of the massive skyscraper and eyes tracing the cityscape laid out below him. New York, he thinks, though he can never be sure anymore. Over the years, humans have taken the world, slowly begun to drag it into its own Hell. A song as old as time itself. Temptation would always lead to sin.

Temptation would lead them all to Fall.

Katie would be pleased with the small trinkets he’d picked up while in the sprawling city, bits and bobs of technological garbage she would no doubt find all new uses for. A piece of a circuit board here, a few wires there… she reminded him of a magpie with her eagerness to collect and hoard her own personal treasures. Her own personal purgatory has turned into something out of a sci-fi novel- something he is only aware of because she keeps insisting he bring her souvenirs from “up top”.

Another drag from his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring into the air with smug satisfaction. Time has given him too much of his own free time that he uses in the worst of ways, feeding his own bad habits and wallowing in misery.

He senses the Grace of an angel approaching, bristles. It’s the third time in a week, and he’s becoming tired of it. Has Heaven finally decided that he’s the largest threat to their holy order? Sending the dogs to hunt him down and slaughter him, as he had once done to others?

A part of him almost longs for it.

An end to the endless cold nights and blurred faces, time passing as quickly as a blink of an eye or as slowly as a damned man through a bog. Above all, the loneliness.

He suspects that it is his Fate. Judged to be eternally alone for daring love a human, for daring to see the world of their Father and live amongst the creations who walked its earth.

No matter his desires, he doesn’t have any plan to perish here in this polluted hell of a city.

The shadows take him as a lover, taking him wherever his whims desire as he beats a hasty retreat. Worlds flickering by, holes in the places where their _God_ had failed to conceal other nooks and crannies from the foolish and the curious. Surely, one of them would lead back to Heaven, but what would be the point?

He has lost himself.

-

The anger had taken him by surprise, waking to discover he had Fallen. A burning ache that took him by the heart and been fanned to a flame, channelled through his veins as amber took his gaze, fanged incisors extended from his jaw, and the new, clawed hands stretched out experimentally.

As if to mock him, his angel blade remained, the hilt as mockingly crimson as it always had been.

He lost himself for weeks, months, years, throwing himself headlong into his rage at Heaven, becoming the monster he believed them to see in him. Banish him for his sins, and he would gladly turn and sink his teeth into the hands that once had fed him.

He had always been known as a passionate angel.

Now he was known as a formidably bitter demon.

The things he had done, the things he had seen, likely would have felled a lesser being. But he was forged from the heart of dying stars and infinite Grace, twisted to become as sharp as a shattered blade and twice as dangerous as a cornered wolf.

For a time, he walked in the shadows of demon lords and Fallen. Sendak, Zarkon, Lotor- the names continued, a ledger written in red and dripping redder still of the lives he took. But as surely as he had followed, he just as quickly turned, attacking those who had been responsible for his Falling. Zarkon had Fallen with Honerva turned Haggar, their lights attracted to the dark power millennia before. Sendak, a loyal follower, and Lotor-

The offspring of two Fallen. His lineage proved nothing- while he was as dark as the rest, there was a spark of something within him that held him at bay. They had fought, of course. The demons and Fallen were constantly at war with one another, biting and clawing out their own territories amid the chaos of Hell. But they shared some strange kinship, of desiring something better of themselves despite their circumstances.

And so he had carved out his own piece of Hell, and spared Lotor. Certainly, they could hardly be described as friends, but they were not enemies and avoided one another for the most part.

No, the only one he could quite call something of an acquaintance was a Katerina Holt. Born in the Italian Renaissance, she had made for a promising future of inventing with her father and brother. But to those of the night and the things that dwelled in it, they whispered her name in fear.

Her brother and father had been murdered, killed for some petty argument over something or other that she had not been present for. When she had returned to find their corpses, something within her changed, twisting into something much darker. She became a shadow, a thief in the night who sought her kin’s killers. But, even after finding the culprits, she had grown too comfortable in the position of power she had acquired. Every name on her ledger, every death she had caused, tied to her name and dragged her deeper underground before she knew it. She had barely made it to twenty before she had been put to death.

Now, she lived in something of a comfortable life. Her viciousness was well known to those who entered her territories in Purgatory, claimed by tooth and nail as she hunted down each and every man who had done the deed of murdering her family and herself, eyes gleaming and a dark smile on her lips.

And what a pair they made when they encountered one another. A young woman who had been trying to find justice for her family, and a Fallen angel who couldn’t seem to give up the past of a love that had never been.

Nonetheless, it was a relationship that worked, providing they didn’t make a point of running into one another often. Few demons were able to make it to the surface without particular rituals, but Fallen were free to come and go as they pleased, the remnants of their Grace turning to demonic power and replacing the need for their once mighty wings.

But, eventually, as time stretched on and his rage began to turn to a quiet simmer, he could only find a hollow ache in him where once there had been passion and joy and love. Where anger and despair had taken root for a time, to be replaced with grief and finally, exhaustion.

What was the point? Furthering the rift between the two planes of existence?

And so, he turned away from the life that he had once found a sickening pleasure in, turning to solitary contemplation and leaving Hell to take to the Earth above. And so he had remained, walking unseen among the humans and their lives, rarely returning to his illusionary “home” unless he needed to hide from the angels who seemed intent on ending his existence.

He can’t find it hard to blame them. He has killed many of his former brethren, all sent to end him before he can return the favor. Something rather un-angelic, if he had to voice his thoughts. But he rarely speaks, can’t find it in himself to see the worth in using a voice no one cares to hear.

Only one would be able to bring that smile back to his lips, and he is gone.

He arrives in Katerina’s- _Katie’s_ \- territory in a flash of smoke, already moving to block the knife hurled at his head with practiced ease.

“Damn it, Keith, you should know better!” the petite woman snaps, crossing her arms and baring sharp teeth in his direction. Her long, catlike ears are flicking in irritation, but he knows better than to take it personally. “One day you’re going to do that and you’re going to get incinerated.”

He quirks a brow at that one. Obviously, she’d been working on something new.

On that thought, he pulls the small pieces of discarded technology from his pocket, a silent peace offering. Her sharp gold gaze lands on them immediately, gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm as she makes a show of huffing and striding over to take them from him.

“So what brings your pitiful self to my doorstep? Other than to bring me some new computer parts?” she inquires, turning on her heel to move back to her workbench, spread out amid the open starry night that lies above them. Her “chosen” Purgatory is the place of her elder brother’s and father’s death, the forest surrounding them eerily dark. She’s branched out, of course, claimed other territories as her own, but out of some form of sentimentality she returns to this place one way or another.

“Angel.” He replies curtly, leaning against a thickly barked tree. “Third one in a week.”

“Heaven must be pissed with you, if you’re suddenly getting popular again.” She snorted, making a note along the parchment lining her table, setting aside the charcoal as she pulls out several screwdrivers and other odd tools. “Then again, you’ve been upside for a while. Maybe you’re just causing more ripples than usual.”

He shrugs.

“Are you ever going to stop moping?” she asks, flicking her gaze up to meet his own before returning to her work.

He shrugs again, his wings twitching.

“Probably not, then.” She sighs. “Look. Not that I like your company, because quite frankly half the time I want to rip your throat out when I see feathers- but try not to get stabbed by an angel before Lotor gets the chance to, okay?”

It’s the closest thing he’ll get to sympathy from her, and he appreciates the blunt honesty the demon can offer him whenever he visits.

To be fair, residual instinct in himself makes him want to grab his blade and put it through her neck every time he sees the gold eyes and long ears.

-

Keith can sense an angel from miles away.

He’s left the angelic host be for his time upon Earth nowadays, but he’s already resigned to a fight if he must. So when the flutter of wings and fabric reaches him, his hand is on the hilt of his blade, jaw tight.

“Come to try your luck at killing a Fallen?” he asks tiredly. Oh, but does he ever feel his endless life stretching on before him in that moment, speaking the words. Should he run? Or should he finally let it come to an end?

He chuckled at the thought. Where was his bite now?

Should he look behind him, he wondered, and see the face of the one who might end his life?

Silence.

“I will not stab you in the back. Even if you are Fallen.” The voice says, and he freezes, every inch of him alight with some unnameable emotion.

He dares turn, some mixture of horror and disbelief chilling his bones as he realizes who is standing mere feet from him.

“ _Takashi.”_

-

He didn’t remember him.

Perhaps it was the truest cruelty that He could manage. Leaving the angel who had Fallen for a human with every painful moment ingrained into his memories for all eternity, while the human became an angel with no memory of who he had once been.

He pressed his shaking hand over the wound in his side, leaking black ichor and stinging something fiercely, leaning his head against the wall of the dirty alley he’d managed to crawl to after he’d dealt his own blow to the angel.

It had to be this way.

Fallen were not meant to cry. To remorse for anything. But he did.

The tears welled up at the edges of his eyes, hot and bitter and as black as the rest of him, rolling to his jaw and dripping to his chest. It felt as though someone had driven a hot poker through him, seeking out his deepest hurts and hammering home everything that they wanted to ruin him.

And oh, Takashi had ruined him.

They had both changed. Where the Shiro in Keith’s memories had once been handsomely dark haired and at the service of his master, his samurai uniform well fitted and suiting to his nature, this Shiro was the epitome of what an angel stood for. His hair had faded to a soft white, scars littering pale skin and the massive white wings a dead giveaway that he had been granted the gifts of the angels.

Keith had allowed himself to fade to the shadows with time. Where time had seemingly unchanged Shiro, time had battered and weathered Keith’s edges until he was nothing more than a shadow of grief that had once been the brightest heart of the heavens.

And what- given up for _love?_

Given all of it up for a simple mortal who would never have realized the consequences, because he would never have lived long enough to know.

A broken sob tears from his throat, and he can’t seem to stop the flood from coming now, a dam broken after years of denial and anger and rage. He knows he should move, should make some effort to hide and lick his wounds, but it just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. What’s the point? Instead of the ending he had imagined, Takashi’s soul ascending to Heaven to rest with his ancestors, he had been taken and turned angelic. Granted immortality and the ability to die again. Granted an angelic blade of his own to use and kill Fallen who resided on the Earth, regardless of who they were.

Bitterly, he wonders what would have happened if he had simply let the samurai die.

He can’t find it in himself to care now. So he drags himself to the one place he still can find it in himself to care about.

The gardens still look the same after all these years, the grounds of the house of the shogun still standing, blessed by the angel who had taken refuge there hundreds of years ago. It still lies in the shadow of the mountains, a subtle ward keeping away any who would desire to spoil it. He has not come back to this place since the beginning, but he finds he no longer cares what the worlds think of him. He feels the sticky heat of his own lifeblood seeping from him, feels a shadow creeping upon him, and thinks that this would be the place he would like to die.

He looks at the flowers, the tiniest of forget-me-nots, the sprawling blues and hues rivalling the summer skies, the long grasses, the asphodel, the plum blossoms and the plants he was always unable to name.

The pavilion still stands, its red and gold colors faded with time but still standing. He can remember endless nights sitting on its roof looking at the stars, a samurai seated beneath him and listening to the tales of the constellations for hours on end. Watching the rain, sipping tea from warm mugs. Laughing and sharing tales of the world, for once feeling not a care in the world.

He stumbles under its cover, the burbling pond still save for the soft breeze blowing through. The low rumble of distant thunder rolls over him as he all but collapses there, breath rattling harshly in his lungs as he turns his head to look at garden. He feels like there should be more fear in death, but he was once an angel. He has led a long life, seen many things. Lost much more. Fallen.

Do the Fallen return to the Earth? Or are their souls simply lost forever?

Does he even have a soul?

He feels his eyelids half-lid, the clouds above opening themselves and releasing their contents to the ground below as the rain comes. It is a soothing sound, here in this quiet place of memories. A fitting death, not with a bang but with a whisper.

He knows he has little time, can feel it deep within his bones.

And yet, he only desires one thing in what is surely his final moments. Desires to see only one face, trace its lines and hear his voice once more before he releases the white knuckled grip he had held for so long in this world.

The mere thought is enough to draw a bitter laugh from him.

No, this is his Fate. He can fight and hold it at bay for as long as he like, but one way or another, it will always remain the same. He was meant to die, and Takashi meant to live.

The laugh brings a spasm to him as his side clenches, and he stills. The wood beneath his palms is smooth, any splinters long since worn and picked away by whatever humans or wildlife had come here since. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine Takashi lying next to him, that soft smile adorning his features as he listened to his rambling nonsense, hand caressing softer feathers with a gentleness that he would have entrusted no one else.

It’s a nice final thought, he thinks dizzily, unable to stop the damn tears from returning. He sniffs, loneliness tearing into him as he tries to curl in around himself, unable to hold at bay the noises of pain as he does so. He is a small speck of a being in a world, and his passing will not be marked by funerals and eulogies. He was Warrior, Ikeith, Kaeth, dozens of names gifted to him by angels and humans alike.

Now he is no one, and no one will mourn him.

Wrapped in his thoughts, his senses too dulled by pain and weakness, he did not notice the sound of an angel appearing in the garden. Did not notice how cautious steps followed the trail of black ichor spattering to find a gravely injured Fallen tucked away from the deluge of rain falling from the sky, tears of black running from its glassy eyes as it gazed sightlessly at something only it could see.

Did not notice until a soft voice spoke.

“Kaeth?”

He blinks slowly, dark eyes struggling to focus on the angel before him, a small, wry smile crossing his lips as he realizes who is crouched next to him.

“Takashi.” He sighs, the sound like wind through brittle grass.

A tentative hand goes to touch the wound- a weak cry of pain halts him. He did this to him. Struck down the one he had once felt nothing but love for.

“I did this.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” He slurs. “Was going to happen eventually.”

He blinks, refocuses his gaze, startled to see the now angel’s cheeks stained with tears.

“Don’t cry.” He hums. “I don’t deserve it.”

“No.” Takashi shakes his head, soft white hair floating like a halo, “You deserve _everything_.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve done.” He tries.

“I don’t care.”

A soft palm cups his cheek, and despite his nature, despite it all, he relaxes into the touch. Sorrow is bubbling back to the surface, wishes for more time and wishing he could take all the things he’d done since Falling back, even so that his soul- or the remnants of it- might feel a little lighter.

“You should.” He says softly. “But not enough to Fall.”

Never enough to Fall. He would not go from this world easy knowing if he had caused the subsequent Fall of his samurai turned angel.

They fell silent, then, both of them losing themselves in their own precious moments. He wonders, idly, what had made Takashi remember him. Dismisses it moments later, for it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that he will not go from this world alone.

Perhaps Takashi leans close, running a hand through his hair, mindful of the horns. Perhaps he gently caresses his black, tattered feathers before pulling his limp form close to his chest, and perhaps there are tears that land on his cheeks like rain.

He blindly seeks out Takashi’s palm, twining their fingers together with a soft sigh.

“’s cold.” He murmurs.

“I know.”

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

“Love you.” He hums, barely audible over the rain.

_You were worth the Fall. You always were. I was too much a fool to see it until now._

Shallow inhale, sickly rattle in his chest.

Exhale.

“I love you too.”

He wishes he could open his eyes, wishes he could do something, _anything_ , to acknowledge the words, but all strength has vanished from his limbs. He feels the cold creeping into him, turning his side numb. Feels so very tired.

“It’s okay, Kaeth.” Takashi soothes, running fingers through his hair as he seizes. “I’m here.”

Inhale.

_I’m not ready._

Exhale.

_Please, I only just got him back, don’t take him away from me again._

Inhale.

_Please._

Exhale.

_Please._


End file.
